I Must Have Missed the Kickoff
by SombraAlma
Summary: Finn, Finn/Kurt. Post-graduation, Finn has finally gotten the hell out of Lima, sort of. It's not all it's cracked up to be.


**Title: **I Must Have Missed the Kickoff**  
Rating: **R, for language and implications, rather than actual explicit-ness.**  
Disclaimer: **Don't own them; just borrowing.**  
Summary: **Finn, Finn/Kurt. Post-graduation, Finn has finally gotten the hell out of Lima, sort of. It's not all it's cracked up to be.**  
Spoilers: **through season 1**  
Notes: **Thank you, thank you, thank you – so very much – to mollivanders and lenina20 for the beta-ing. You guys are wonderful.

* * *

Through some miracle – and he's still trying to figure it out, really – Finn gets a football scholarship to the small state college the next town over. The team's mostly crappy, and it's certainly not OSU like he'd dreamed about when he and Puck had been the only freshmen at McKinley allowed to try out for varsity, but it's football and it's money and it's technically getting out of Lima. Finn kinda doesn't want to look back.

It's close enough to home to commute, but his scholarship includes room and board. And the whole getting out of Lima thing is kind of intoxicating, the summer after graduating when Glee is over forever and so are he and Rachel (senior prom, Jesse Fucking St. James showed up and stole her away with some Broadway number about dreaming an impossible dream that, frankly, Kurt had done much better once, and Finn really doesn't want to think about it any more, thank you very much). So his mom cries and packs up her old Taurus with all his stuff and too much laundry detergent, packages of Ramen and a couple cases of off-brand Gatorade. He moves twenty miles away.

It's a start. Sort of.

His roommate is here for football, too, and is actually pretty cool. They listen to classic rock and play Grand Theft Auto and throw long passes in the dorm hallway when the Resident Assistants aren't around. Finn's reminded of the time when he and Puck were still okay, back before everything started coming together and falling apart, all at the same time. Scott brings girls over all the time and Finn almost doesn't even mind when he can hear them sucking him off in the bed below. He just puts his headphones on, turns Journey up and tries, again, to conjugate some stupid Spanish verb (sorry, Mr. Schue, he thinks, every time he realizes – again – it's going to be hell of a lot harder to keep the 1.7 GPA his scholarship requires than he'd thought it'd be).

Despite all the laundry detergent that came in his mom's old Taurus, he catches the bus back to Lima every Sunday with a bag of laundry on his lap, goes home so he can eat real food and have clean clothes and pretend he's not trying so hard to stay afloat. To do her proud.

It's one Sunday night he returns to his dorm room to find Scott sitting on their futon, pale and shaking and obviously drunk. "Hudson. Oh, fuck, man," he begins, no real preamble. "Missy's knocked up." And Finn thinks of the pictures of Scott's high school girlfriend on his roommate's phone, and it's on the tip of his tongue to say, not thinking, _one time, my girlfriend_, because he remembers that terror. But he can't, of course. Doesn't even know how to end the statement. So he settles for a grunt of half-sympathy, and handing him one of the last bottles of knockoff Gatorade. Turns out college doesn't teach you anything about how to do this, any more than high school had.

That night's the last time he sees Scott. Coach says he moved back home for family reasons, and everyone knows what that actually means. The school gives Finn a new roommate almost immediately, a thin, wiry kid who studies all the time and never talks except to invite him, once, to a Settlers of Catan tournament. Finn has no idea what he means. Instead, Finn misses Scott and hallway pickup games and blasting The Who at inappropriate hours. Which really means he misses Puck and Glee and Rachel and his mom and Kurt and Mr. Schue and, God help him, Lima. Lima Losers, he'd called them, once, and he wishes he could go back. He jerks off in his top bunk at night and bites down on the pillow too late to muffle a small cry, and he doesn't even care if Weird New Roommate hears.

It's a random Saturday in the long stretch between winter and spring breaks that some guys on the team drag him to a frat party across campus. Finn walks around awkwardly, slowly getting drunk off of warm beer in plastic cups while girls and guys alike rub against him in time, mostly, to music he doesn't recognize. He finally gives in, has his tongue down the throat of some brunette in the hallway who tastes like beer and cigarettes and another guy's spit. He's half hard against her, though not uncomfortably so yet, and he can already tell she's – as Puck or Scott would say – a sure bet.

So of course he turns his head in just the wrong direction and catches a glimpse of someone walking towards him.

"Finn? Is that you?"

He pulls his tongue out of the girl's mouth, breaks suction with a _pop_, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, and shrugs a sort-of apology to the girl, who merely rolls her eyes. "Kurt," he manages, when things settle in his head again. "Wow. Hey."

Because this is Kurt, he looks completely put together and extremely out of place, and of _course_ he's holding one of the pink drinks Finn'd seen some girls mixing in the kitchen when they'd first arrived. Finn scratches the back of his head, trying to figure out what Kurt's even doing here. "I ah...kinda thought you'd be on Broadway by now," he settles for, which is probably the wrong thing to say.

But Kurt waves it off, shaking his head. "You wait; my name'll be in lights yet," he assures him, confident and pleased. "Finn, this is Adam. Adam, Finn," he announces then, and for the first time Finn notices Kurt's not alone.

Something twists in his gut. He tells himself it must be the beer. The guy on Kurt's arm is looking him up and down, and Finn gets the uncomfortable feeling he's being judged. "You're Finn," the guy finally says, not altogether friendly, and he's not sure why.

"Yeah, that's me," he says, lamely, finishing the dregs of beer left in his cup. It doesn't do anything for the twisting sensation, really.

"Babe -" Kurt starts, which makes Finn's eyes snap up until he realizes Kurt's talking to Adam, holding the pink drink out to him, "I'm going to need another one of these if I'm staying here much longer. All this smoke is already going to be _hell_ to get out of this jacket."

For some reason, the comment makes Finn bark out in laughter, and the familiarity of Kurt's uptight fashion concern unwinds the something in his middle. He feels something warm and not altogether unpleasant replace it, and he reaches for another beer on a nearby table. "I can't believe you're actually here," he tells Kurt, drinking the beer fast, wanting to hold onto this warmth, this feeling of home, finally.

"Trust me, I can't believe it either," Kurt says with disdain, looking around at their surroundings as Adam walks off, pink drink in hand. "Is there any surface of this place _not_ covered in booze and...sweat?" He wrinkles his nose, plucking at the jacket as if offended on its behalf.

Finn looks around and finally nods to a couch in a far corner that looks to have the only two free seats in the house, at the moment. "You might have to settle for some sweat," he warns, leading the way, thinking he must be drunker than he'd thought since he feels pretty lightheaded. "You can handle it," he adds, as he plops down on the couch, accidentally bumping into the couple making out on the far cushion. "You played football, didn't you?"

Kurt shudders at the memory of – Finn imagines – used, sweaty pads and locker room filth and public showers. But he does sit down, wedged between the couch arm and Finn's thigh. Finn looks at him and doesn't back away from the press of Kurt's hip against his. Mostly because there's nowhere else to go. He thinks Kurt might be a little drunk, too, because his eyes are doing funny things, and his hand is jumping a little, on his knee.

"I can't believe you're here," he says again. "It's weird being...gone." They're very close, and Finn draws in a breath. He can smell whatever product Kurt uses in his hair. "I miss...everyone."

"You mean Rachel," Kurt confirms, and his voice sounds even a little higher than usual, measured and too calm.

Finn shakes his head. "No...yeah. I mean, just...everyone." The twisting in his gut is back, and maybe it's the mention of Rachel, he thinks, as Kurt's hand bumps his knee. Finn clears his throat. "I don't think your boyfriend likes me," he says then, suddenly, which is a stupid thing to say, because Kurt laughs, short and tight, and looks away.

"_I_ don't like where my boyfriend takes me on a Saturday night," he sounds stubborn, "so he's just going to have to deal."

Finn's cramped on the small couch and he has to shift, so his arm is reaching over the back. Kurt returns his gaze to him and Finn's hand brushes his shoulder – accidental. He must be really drunk, yeah, that's it, because suddenly he doesn't remember leaning closer but the next thing he knows their lips are touching, just barely, until Kurt leans in with a small whimper.

Then they're mashed together – there's no room, really – and Finn tastes the pink drink, sweet and sort of fruity, kind of like one of Rachel's lip glosses. It's clumsy, what they're doing, and Finn doesn't know where to put his hands so he settles on a shoulder and a thigh, but he doesn't want to stop. Not even – especially, maybe – when he discovers he's getting half hard again, like he had with the brunette in the hallway.

It's not until he feels Kurt's hand move down, slowly, and finally brush over the front of his jeans that he jumps, pulls away, breathing heavily. Jolted into near-sobriety. "Oh, shit. Fuck. Kurt, I..."

Kurt's wide-eyed, and reaches a hand to smooth down Finn's cheek. "Hey. Finn, it's okay. It's _okay_," he repeats, pleading and calming all at the same time.

"Kurt, I...I don't..."

"Okay," Kurt says again, and Finn hears him through a fog. "Just breathe. _Breathe._"

Finn breathes. After a while, he leans forward to rest his forehead on Kurt's shoulder. Still breathing, Finn smells fabric softener and expensive cologne and _home_. He feels Kurt's hand carding through his hair, and though he keeps thinking this is not who he is, not _what_ he is, his dick begs to differ. It's not who he is, maybe, but a numbness has settled around the shock and panic, and he _wants_. It's almost automatic, the way his body moves, searching for more friction against Kurt's knee. Thinking about the mailman is doing crap to dispel the urge.

Kurt's hand stills in his hair at the touch and Finn lifts his head. _What the hell._ "Okay," he repeats Kurt's utterance back to him, before he presses their lips together again, a little more determination.

He still doesn't quite know what to do with his hands. He knows what girls like – well, what Rachel had liked, and Quinn, once, and the small handful of girls he's made out with since being here – but Kurt is a guy, a guy who Finn's not sure would appreciate his hair being messed up. And, you know, he doesn't have boobs. Finn settles for one arm around Kurt's shoulders, because it's easier to be closer on the cramped couch that way, and Kurt figures the other hand out for him, by grabbing it and holding on tightly, like he's afraid to let go.

It's easier to just stop thinking, so that's what Finn does. When he's not thinking, it's easy to kiss Kurt, to touch him, to press him further into the couch cushions so he feels more of Kurt's body against his. There's a giddy fear and uncertainty buzzing at the back of his mind, but he's not thinking, so he chases Kurt's tongue with his, drinks him in. Kurt's still holding his hand.

When they part – out of necessity for breath and because it's _really_ not comfortable on this damned couch – Kurt smiles a little, color high on his cheeks. "Penny for your thoughts?" he asks, and Finn notices somehow his hair got mussed, anyway.

Finn looks away, looks around, and there's exactly no one looking at them. He returns his gaze to Kurt and shrugs a little, awkward. "Just...you know, glad we're not almost stepbrothers anymore."

He means it as a joke, ha-ha, brothers can't be making out at stupid frat parties, isn't that funny? but knows almost the instant the words leave his mouth it's the wrong thing to say. Kurt pulls his hand away, his forehead pinched, like he'd been on that awful day in the basement bedroom when Finn had said 'faggy' and Burt had yelled and kicked him out. And he hates himself for it, but the next thought in his mind is next someone's going to be calling _him_ faggy; his cheeks heat and he looks around quickly again, never so thankful for drunk idiots too wrapped up in their own hormones to notice.

"Shit." He always says – and thinks – the wrong thing. He looks at Kurt again, fidgeting. "Kurt, I'm...I didn't mean..."

Finn can almost see Kurt smoothing his expression from within; he smiles, less pinched but not all the way genuine yet. "I know you didn't mean anything, Finn." He pats Finn's hand, and somehow that's worse than the pinched look. When it hadn't worked out between their parents, Finn knows it'd been worse for Burt – and he also knows Kurt had been left with the pieces. Finn'd been too wrapped up in football – okay, hell, in Rachel – for the fallout to touch him much. "It's okay," Kurt continues, breaking him out of the memory, and Finn can see it's not, not yet, not really, but that it could be soon. He hopes.

"Look." He runs a hand through his hair. "How...how long are you here?"

Kurt looks around, laughs a little. "Well, I think I've probably lost my ride," he says with a shrug, carefully amused.

It takes Finn a moment, but then he remembers Adam, and what he must have seen when he'd returned with another of the pink drinks. He feels his cheeks go hot. "Sorry about that."

"Que sera, sera," Kurt returns, flippant and mostly unconcerned, and Finn breathes a little easier.

"Well, um, still. You don't have a ride." He watches as Kurt rolls his eyes at the obvious statement, and barrels on. "So, come back to mine. You can catch the bus with me back to Lima tomorrow."

Kurt's eyes widen, then narrow, almost as if he's going to ask if Finn really means it. All he says, though, is, "Are you sure?"

Finn shrugs a shoulder and stands up from the couch before he can change his mind. "Sure. It's a short walk." A beat, then, "Why? You got a better offer?"

They navigate to the door surprisingly easily, and step out into the night. Kurt reaches for Finn's arm, and Finn pretends it's because it's dark and they're probably still a little drunk and Kurt doesn't know the way. "You know, I meant it when I said it wasn't just Rachel," he says after a while. "I miss everyone."

Silence, for several long moments during which Finn fears he's said the wrong thing, once again. Then, finally, he feels a head come to rest on his shoulder. "I missed you too, Finn. I missed you, too."


End file.
